This is a passage from page 156 of Wayne Booth's newly published, 'For the
Love of It', a University of Chicago English professor writing about his
forty years of playing the cello in amateur chamber groups.  It rings so
true:

   "After playing the two Brahms sextets on Friday night, I found
   myself on Monday, as I was in the shower thinking about Whitehead,
   simultaneously singing not my own cello part but a viola passage.
   A little later, working on an article at the computer, I suddenly
   "heard" all of the other five strings opening Opus 36 while I do
   nothing, for twenty-nine measures, but ten little pluckings and one
   gentle slurp.  Later still, walking to campus, I suddenly realized
   that I was pacing to the andante of the other sextet, Opus 18.

   This morning, Tuesday, reading about the usual atrocities in the
   morning paper, I heard intruding the lovely pattern of ritardando
   arpeggios at the end of that slow movement.  My voice could never
   sing them properly; my cello had come closer.  But my mind, my
   half-conscious, gets them right.  Later the cellos are both plucking
   away in my head, in the marvelous pizzicato opening of the scherzo
   of the G Major.  Sometimes, when we have worked especially hard and
   then exeperienced an especially good session, the hangover will run
   on for weeks."

Scott Morrison